Night Market
by Sookie Starchild
Summary: Caveat emptor in glamorous Antiva City, where an evening on the town takes a little longer than Lyna Mahariel, Zevran and Sten are expecting.
1. Chapter 1

The Archdemon had been slain, the fifth Blight was over, Alistair had been crowned king, and somewhere out in wild Thedas was Morrigan and his child. It was high time for a break, from all the fighting and wicked things and morally ambiguous sex-magic rituals. But Lyna Mahariel's Dalish blood was restless - for her there would be no cooling her heels in the high court, or living a life of luxury and title. She wanted to wander a little, while she still had the chance.

They worked it out like this: Alistair had given the Grey Wardens the arling of Amaranthine, to which Mahariel would have to report at some point in time. But there was no reason that point in time had to be right away. Sten wanted to get back to Seheron, where the familiar aromas of tea and incense and the sea would once again fill his lungs. And Zevran needed to get back to Antiva, where the unmistakable odours of fish chowder and fresh blood and reliable tanneries would once again fill _his_ lungs. So the three of them would travel to Antiva City together. Mahariel would then turn back and make her way to Amaranthine and the adventures that awaited her there, Sten would carry on north, and Zevran would settle whatever mysterious affairs he wanted to settle in the city of his birth.

"This is going to be fun, eh, my friend?" Zevran said cheerfully, as he and Sten walked through the crowded, labyrinthine streets of the Lower Docks. The sun shone above them, catching the gold in the elf's hair and making him look like an idol of summer. All around them, people were shouting and hoisting crates and shoving past. The scent of salt and dead kelp lingered in the air, and seagulls shrieked and swarmed the skies.

Sten replied with a sidelong look, and a glance at the sails of the ship that anticipated them on the horizon.

"You never speak to me," Zevran shook his head with a soft but playful frown, "If you are not careful, I shall begin to take it personally."

"That is incorrect." Sten announced, pushing past an absent minded merchant who was counting a pouch full of gold as he walked.

Zevran looked over his shoulder at the merchant, and wondered how long he would last before he was knocked over and robbed. A man counting his gold in a public street! He would never truly understand the mindset of the average Fereldan. They would not see such displays in Antiva, that was for certain.

"Ah, well. I suppose it _was_ rather sensitive of me. You are a quiet fellow, after all, and I should not force so much conversation upon you. But - to be reasonable - I am a very talkative fellow, and you should try harder to accommodate me in turn, no?"

Sten considered the compromise.

"No."

"That is unfair, but not unexpected." Zevran chuckled.

The ship was called the Maid of Ghislain, and would take them straight to Antiva with a few stops on the islands of the coast. She was tall and wealthy, belonging to a merchant who supplied fabric and leathers to the most sophisticated tailors in Denerim. They didn't usually take passengers, but the royal house was an important customer to them, and so they made an exception.

Standing on the deck of the ship, talking with the captain, were Mahariel and King Alistair. Royal guards lined the docks, wearing their identical helmets and holding their menacing lances. They all looked far from amused.

"How thoughtlessly naive! What is Alistair doing here?" Zevran's jaw dropped at the sight, "He's making quite the target of himself, standing up there with his full entourage of guards. And now everyone will know which ship carries the Warden Commander of Fereldan! He must want us to be killed."

"_Vashedan_," Sten growled low in his throat, "He will be a terrible king."

"True. But he is also an improvement on what they had before," Zevran watched as Alistair told an awkward joke to the captain, "Or so we can hope."

The guards gave them uneasy glances as they made their way to the deck. The assassin and the Qunari scout who were allowed to walk right up to the new king, mere days after his official coronation. Less than a month since the country had been freed from political turmoil. And they would sail, unaccompanied, with the symbol of true Fereldan spirit. All alone. On the sea. Where they could kill her.

"Oh, thank the Creators! Here they are!" Mahariel smiled brightly as her friends came aboard, "Sten. Zevran. This is Captain Javert, who is being kind enough to let us sail with him. And Alistair came say goodbye to us!"

"Really? All three of us?" Zevran smirked at Alistair, who cleared his throat and looked at the deck.

"Goodbye." Sten said dryly.

"Er…" The king smiled his newly perfected fake-royal-smile, "Have an excellent voyage. All three of you. Feel free to write and tell me about your adventures."

"Only if you swear that you'll write back." Zevran replied, curving an eyebrow at him suggestively.

"Yes. Well. Safe passage." Alistair nodded stiffly, his plastic smile still plastered on.

"Thank you for coming, Alistair. I know how busy you are these days." Mahariel said, as the captain bowed his farewell.

"Of course. It's no trouble to see off friends." A sudden sadness filled the king's eyes, and he went ashore.

He stood and waved one last time, his guards gathered around him like the bars of a cage. Mahariel couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man, but remembered that it was the path he had chosen for himself. He had become king to ensure the death of Loghain, and he would pay for that choice with the very things he had loved the most about life. The journey, the battles, and being a Grey Warden.

She waved back, with a melancholy smile of her own.

"He was a fool to come," Zevran sighed, leaning against a mast, "But he is always a fool for you."

"Be quiet, Zevran."

The seas were smooth and the voyage speedy. It seemed that almost no time had passed since that day on the docks of Denerim and when the Maid of Ghislain at last sailed into the emerald waters of the Rialto Bay. The shipyards of Antiva City were full of vessels; some with sails that towered over their own with dramatic heraldry upon them, some only small fishing boats, bringing in their catches for the day. Music seemed to come from nowhere, a sad drifting song on a lyre and a soft voice full of tears. Chantry bells rang out from somewhere deep among the spires and domed roofs of the city. The sky was full of life.

Zevran took a deep breath, and his eyes glittered with nostalgia as he looked upon his home. He was satisfied that all of the buildings seemed to be where he had left them.

"It is wonderful to return," He sighed, "The first time I took leave of this city, I was very much pleased to shake its dirt from my boots. I thought that I would never want to go back, as long as I lived and there were other places to see. Why would I? To live always with the uncomfortable threat of running into all of the people who disliked me? To walk past all of the places that have been taken over by bad memories and tales I will never tell? And yet, Antiva is my woman. She is a siren, a cheater and a whore - but I will never let her go."

Sten did not seem to care.

"And you, my stoic friend?" Zevran turned to face him, "Do you feel closer to Seheron now that we are here?"

"Do not ask such pointless questions. We _are_ closer to Seheron."

"I hope that it will not damage our camaraderie too greatly if I tell you that I am growing slightly tired of you, Sten. You are no fun."

"You have damaged nothing by saying this," The qunari grumbled, "I do not wish to be found… _fun_. And I tire of you often."

"Then you would be a hypocrite for holding it against me! I am pleased enough with that."

Mahariel came topside just in time to see Sten walking down towards the docks.

"I guess we're going ashore?" She asked, flashing Zevran a bemused grin.

"Why do you look at me with such suspicion?" He asked, "You wound me, my dear Warden."

The two of them caught up with their companion, and walked with him into the bustling streets of the city.

They worked it out like this: Sten was going to leave the next morning, since he was very much inclined to get home as quickly as possible. Mahariel was going to leave in three days time, since she had obligations to meet and couldn't really put them off. So they only had one day that would be all three of them together. They took rooms in an inn that Zevran recommended, which turned out to be surprisingly quaint, and did some sight-seeing. Or the closest thing that can be done to sight-seeing with a qunari in tow.

A lavish dinner was arranged, unlike anything Mahariel had ever seen. The restaurant was a quiet place on the second floor of a building that curved around the corner of a block of shops and small apartments. Rather than the high-backed wooden chairs of Fereldan, the seats around the low tables were soft, square cushions. Candles hung from the ceiling in porcelain holders that had been carved to look like skulls and painted with bright flowers.

The food came in several courses, each a small selection of delicacies prompting Sten to continually enquire when the actual meal would begin. A very sweet wine was served in small glasses with golden stems, and they held no more than a few sips each. When a new course was begun, the glasses were refilled. The food was of all kinds. Some spicy, some sweet, some salty. Mahariel's favourite was a kind of potato that had been cut into slices and fried until the outside was crisp and the inside was as soft as a cloud. Sten seemed only to enjoy the strong coffee that was served for dessert.

"So, my friends. Where to now?" Zevran asked, basking in the soft lighting and pleased to be dining in _his_ city with _his_ companions.

"The inn. To sleep." Sten answered.

"It is getting late, isn't it? But it's been a wonderful day…" Mahariel sighed.

"No, no, no. In Antiva we do not sleep until we see the light of dawn! We must do at least one more interesting thing! Come, you cannot be so tired that you would refuse the most exciting offerings of my beautiful city!"

"I must travel in the morning." Sten reminded him.

"That is true. Perhaps we should not see a play or an opera then…" Zevran put a finger to his lips and tapped them as he considered the possibilities, "I know! The Night Market! Of course, it is such a perfect idea for the both of you, I am suddenly ashamed that I did not think of it before."

"Well, it is our last night," Mahariel sighed and turned to Sten, "How about it? We may never see each other again. It could be fun to go shopping for paintings one last time."

Sten sat.

He pondered.

He decided.

"Very well, _Kadan_. We shall visit this… Night Market."


	2. Chapter 2

The sultry summer night was as smooth as a piece of navy silk on a tailor's table, and full of bright and endless stars that winked at the city from the heavens. In Antiva, even the sky was up to something mischievous. Zevran led Mahariel and Sten down narrow winding roads, beneath balconies that rang with laughter and song and the occasional heated argument. Lovers sauntered home arm in arm, stealing kisses in the shadows. Rosy cheeked drunks stumbled by, toasting the travellers with whatever they had left in their bottles. Zevran seemed to have enough stories for a thousand nights of walking through the backstreets - he talked endlessly as they walked.

"And here, my dear Warden and my stoic friend, we have arrived. Welcome to the Antivan Night Market!"

It was located in a square of the old city, where the buildings were shorter, more ornate and centuries old. Tables were set up in rows beneath colourful awnings, each displaying a range of wares and treasures that sparkled with promises of luxury and prestige. Paper lanterns of green, blue and white hung in glowing spheres over the crowds that milled about, browsing and bartering with the merchants. A sizzling noise could be heard beneath the endless hum and chatter of conversation, and the smell of grilled fish and lime juice lingered in the air. It was an electric place, full of energy and bursts of laughter and vivacity. It was like walking into the very heart of the simple pleasures of Antiva.

"What do you think? It is a wonderful little spot to visit, and we are certain to find at least one irresistible souvenir apiece. With any luck, you two shall spend more gold than you have, and be forced to stay here for several months - living in vagrancy and keeping me company. I will, of course, see to your lodgings."

"Don't dream too big," Mahariel warned, "Sten is notoriously frugal."

"I am sensible." Sten corrected.

They browsed for a bit, stopping to look at a selection of fine jewellery at one table, and some beautiful carpentry at another. Zevran spoke for the group, his voice rising and falling in a rhythm more like music than speech. He asked questions, he gave answers and he laughed at jokes that the other two did not understand. Mahariel and Sten had followed him into his element, where he shone like a diamond.

"Oh look, my friends! If I am correct, that is a rather impressive collection of pornography!" Zevran said, louder than his companions would have cared for, and made his way over to a table that was teeming with stacks of books.

Sten and Mahariel exchanged a hesitant glance.

"I will go and examine the armour stand." Sten announced, directing his gaze to a stall in front of a blacksmith's anvil. Swords and shields hung on display on the wall, and looked to be of decent craftsmanship.

"Alright. I'll just… be around…" Mahariel smiled.

"Some of these are _very_ rare!" Zevran called to her happily.

Sten pushed away through the crowd, his head higher than anyone else's. There was no danger of loosing track of him, Mahariel thought fondly.

"I think I'll go and snoop around that mage's table," She said over Zevran's shoulder, trying not to look too closely at the illustrations in the book he was flipping through, "See if I can finally pick up a belt that I like."

"Yes, yes, go." Zevran dismissed her with a wave of his hand, "Enjoy yourself!"

The table was one of the ones that sat in front of a shop, the doors to which were closed. A sign above them said simply _Maravillas_, in flourished script and golden paint. Upon the table sat items of rare and wondrous beauty - a crystal ball that swirled with images of battles yet to be fought, a small portrait of a man who looked rather like Duncan, blue glass bottles full of delicate essences from sweet-smelling plants, a ring with a bright green stone and a delicate band of silver, two daggers with pale white handles. All this, scattered among countless other trinkets.

"Such lovely things." Mahariel said cheerfully, and looked up at the man who sat behind the table.

He was a daunting figure, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. A purple hood hung low over his face, obscuring it with shadows, beneath which sat an ornate mask of the kind Orlesian nobility favoured. It had a long beak of a nose and sculpted lips painted silver. The merchant wearing it did not rise from his chair or speak, only nodded his thanks to her and watched as she looked at the wares on his table.

"This is stunning," She looked over a statue of a halla that had been carved of white onyx, "Do you have any more like it?"

The hooded man pointed to the door of the shop. His hand was steady, but the skin upon it was grey and withered and his fingernails were long and jagged.

"Inside?" Mahariel asked, already moving towards the doors.

He nodded again.

She smiled her thanks, opened the doors, and went in.

"I wish to leave." Sten grumbled, returning to Zevran and his search for the lewdest book ever written.

"You must be joking! We have only just arrived, and I have not yet finished with a single table! There must be some other entertainment here to amuse you. Why not have something to eat? You have spent most of the night complaining about your hunger. And there will be dancing girls, soon! By the fountain!" Zevran paused to ask the proprietor of the smut collection a question in Antivan, received his answer and turned back to Sten, "They begin performing in forty minutes, my friend."

Sten sighed with a note of devastating annoyance.

"Where is the Grey Warden?"

"Ah…" Zevran looked around the crowd, "I believe she went over to that table of enchantments, but she is no longer there…"

Sten looked to where Zevran had indicated, and knit his brow.

"She went to look upon that garbage?" He clarified.

"Well, perhaps it is not to _your_ liking, but there is no need to call it _garbage_…"

"What would you have me call the bones of fish and torn shirts?"

Now Zevran's face matched the expression of confusion on his friend's. He looked again at the place that Mahariel had told him she was going, and tilted his head to one side.

"This table," He pointed, "The one that sells the gilded daggers and old-fashioned poisons and the very nice gloves and… that is a beautiful jacket. It looks as though it would fit me perfectly, do you not think so? We should go over, ask about our friend, and find out how much gold such finery sets a man back."

Sten looked, he craned his head, he noted the contents of the tables near to the one Zevran pointed at, but there were no gilded daggers, no poisons and no jackets.

"I see no such things," He made a low and contemplative sound, "This… does not seem right."

"Yes, my friend. I think I know what you mean - I am suddenly overwhelmed with a disquieting anxiety, and a desire to locate our lovely companion as quickly as possible."

It was the most beautiful shop that Mahariel had ever seen. Trees grew against the walls, their branches reaching across the ceiling in a canopy of bright green leaves, some of which fluttered towards the grey wood floor. The air was fresh, with the light fragrance of young grass and white flowers. She could hear the distant falling of soft rain, and wondered if the weather outside had changed.

A glass-top counter was set up at the front, and when Mahariel peered inside of it she saw all manner of jewels. Sapphires set into intricate bracelets, emeralds in circlet crowns, diamond pendants and jade broaches. Statues sat everywhere, some that looked as old as Tevinter and some that looked older. Bookshelves sat between the trunks of the trees, and as she peered at the spines of the tomes they held her heart raced. Histories of Arlathan, tales of the ancient elves, secrets of immortality. Carefully, she lifted a green leather-bound book from its self and opened it - inside were Elven spells and instructions for old and long forgotten medicines.

She would have stayed for hours, trying to learn the secrets of just one of those elixirs, if she hadn't heard the sound that lured her into the next room. The clanking of metal against stone.

"Hello?" Mahariel called, pushing past a gossamer curtain with the old book still in her hand.

The second room was taller than the first, but not as large. Its walls were lined with curtains of pale blue silk, and the floor was covered in piles of gold coins. The back wall was made of a deep black stone, entirely smooth and featureless. Hanging from the ceiling were three golden cages, like the kind for keeping slaves, and in each of them was a man. One was an elf dressed in a grey tunic, one was a Shemlen dressed in black, and the other was a dwarf dressed in white. They looked down at Mahariel with curious, expectant eyes.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" She gasped at the sight of them, though she wasn't quite sure why she should apologize. Only that she was in Antiva, and if what Zevran had told her was true, stumbling on handsome men cages probably meant you were interrupting something very private.

None of them answered her.

The elf and the dwarf merely stood where they were, with their gaze fixed upon her. The Shemlen kneeled, coming closer to the bars, and smiled seductively. There was something about his eyes, a familiar quality to their deep red glimmer, but Mahariel couldn't place it.

"Are you alright?" She asked, taking a step towards him.

He shook his head slowly, but the smile still played upon his lips.

"You're not just being flirtatious, are you? Because I'm really not that kind of girl," She said, "I mean, with strangers locked in hanging cages. I'm sure you're a very wonderful person to get to know, and good luck with whatever it is you're doing…"

There was no reply from any of them. The dwarf leaned back against the bars of his caged, and it swung into the wall and made the noise that had drawn her into the room to begin with.

"What _are_ you doing?" She asked, and then quickly put her hands up and shook her head, "Never mind. Please don't tell me."

A cool breeze tickled the back of her neck with a startling sharpness, and she turned to see what had caused it. But there was nothing behind her but the black wall. Cool, smooth and deep as the sea. Somewhere within it were the countless secrets of eternity - the answers to questions Mahariel would never ask out loud, the living memories of things she had lost long ago. A shiver ran down her spine, and she remembered Tamlen and his terrible fate.

She struggled against the darkness that was creeping out towards her, pulling her into the refreshing smoothness of the wall. With all her strength, she resisted its allure. But the black wall washed over her, and in she went. Like a thousand unseen hands had grabbed her.

Into the icy pool of shadow. Into the place where her screams could not be heard.


	3. Chapter 3

"Alright, here's what I am thinking," Zevran finally announced, after a few minutes of watching the table in front of Maravillas, "There is an enchantment upon that merchant's goods, which is fair enough since any fool who purchases fish bones and believes them to be rare antiques deserves what he gets. However, somehow this merchant's charade has involved the disappearance of the Grey Warden - and this is admittedly cause for great concern to the both of us. Now, what should we do?"

"Stop talking." Sten answered, and approached Maravillas with purpose in his steps.

The masked merchant was not in his chair, and was nowhere to be seen. Sten flipped the table over, and the garbage that sat upon it spilled onto to street with a nauseating squish. People from all over the square turned to see what had made they noise, for they had heard it as the clatter of treasure.

"Where is the merchant responsible for this stall?" The qunari demanded, in a loud clear voice that reached the highest windows of the nearest buildings.

There was a pause of anticipation, and when no one came forward, the crowd moved into action. They dove for the unguarded riches that had spilled before them, grabbing at the gold they saw and fighting one another in a frenzy. Sten's stomach turned as he watched them greedily snatching up rotting banana peels and crumpled pieces of paper. None of them answered his question.

"That was… very dramatic…" Zevran commented, wondering for a brief second if he should grab the bottle of fine wine that had rolled next to his boot, before someone else got it, "But, it still has gotten us nowhere. Perhaps we should see if she has gone into the shop itself?"

Sten agreed with Zevran's suggestion, so he turned around and kicked in the door. His patience was beginning to wear thin, and he did not care for Antiva City in the slightest. He only wanted to ensure the safety of his friend and return to the inn as swiftly as possible.

"You are in quite the mood! I think I like it when you are feisty!"

"Your levity offends me."

To Zevran's eye, the inside of the shop was soft and warm and comfortable. Golden velvet draped from the ceiling in swaths that reached all the way to the smooth marble floors. Candelabras sat against the walls, glowing with gentle amber light that cast flickering patterns across the room like a pale kaleidoscope. The counter near the door was covered in the same velvet that adorned the ceiling, and upon it sat several small items of absolutely stunning craftsmanship. A sun dial with carvings of the sun and moon, a small wooden box with a stiletto dagger inside, a bronze bell with a pearl handle.

"What do you see, my friend?" He asked Sten in a tone of quiet reverence, best reserved for a Chantry.

"I see an ill-kept room. There is nothing in here but broken bottles and sacks full of straw."

"That… is a great shame." Zevran shook his head.

"It is what it is." Sten replied, and Zevran watched as he cut down a shimmering curtain and walked into the room with three cages.

Neither spent any time observing the illusions or realities of the room, for one sight in particular caught their attention. The black wall, smooth and flawless in both their eyes. Mahariel was trapped inside it, her body floating as though she had been flung beneath the surface of a dark sea. Her eyes were wide with terror, and one hand stuck out into the rest of the room, fingertips stretched outward in desperation.

Inside, Mahariel herself saw nothing but the swirl of the dark water around her. She reached forward, but slipped backwards and backwards as she drowned. Fear stole over her, and the knife-edge of panic pierced her burning lungs, until finally a hand grabbed hers and pulled her forward and free. She gasped for air and collapsed against Sten.

"Are you alright?" Zevran asked frantically, turning her to face him and looking into her eyes, "What is happening in this place?"

Mahariel shook her head, taking a few more deep breaths.

"We must take her away," Sten announced, "There is nothing here but dangerous things and the threat of demons."

"You must be joking! We cannot simply leave this place - this trap - for other people to find!" Zevran scoffed, gesturing to the darkly enchanted wall, "We have a responsibility to find some way to destroy it, and ensure the safety of the city!"

"Don't touch it…" Mahariel murmured, "Don't touch the mirror, Tamlen…"

Zevran raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"On second thought, perhaps it would be best if we found her somewhere to lie down. We can destroy this… whatever this is, in the morning. Once we are better rested and less prone to hallucinations."

Sten nodded and lifted Mahariel over his shoulder.

"Wait!" She objected, "We can't go until we help the men in the cages!"

Zevran looked up, and noticed them for the first time. Three exotic birds, each a different vibrant colour - one blue, one red and one yellow - with beautiful long feathers, and the promise of the sweetest songs he had ever heard.

Sten turned to look at them as well.

"We cannot help them, _Kadan_," He said, "They are giant spiders."

"Really?" Zevran grinned, "How utterly fascinating…"

As they hurried to make their exit, they were halted by the figure of the strange masked merchant, who stood in front of the door and blocked their path. Standing, he was almost as tall as Sten.

_You cannot take my customer._

The voice came from all corners, filling up their minds. It was low and raspy, and held all the charm of listening to someone choke.

"I shall take what I like, mage." Sten answered, and drew Asala with his free hand. He stood poised for battle, with the Warden still draped listlessly over one shoulder.

_You trifle with things you do not understand. Give me my customer, and I shall let you leave._

"Well, it is obvious that we are at an impasse," Zevran sighed, "Perhaps you are concerned with the coin you will lose should we remove our companion? This can easily be settled. How much gold do you imagine she would spend? We will gladly cover your loss."

_Fools_.

The body of the mage began to shift, to transform into some inhuman form. He writhed and twisted, amid the sounds of tearing flesh and cracking bones. His body expanded like a lung filling with air. The seams of the robes he wore tore under the strain. A sound that seemed to call from the Black City itself took the place of the voice that had haunted their minds. It was a powerful scream of frustration.

The mask fell away from him, and revealed the unholy face of a Revenant.

"Ah, and here we are again. Facing off against some demonic creature we have no business fighting! It appears I cannot even take the two of you for a night on the town without such things befalling us. How disappointing." Zevran shook his head as he twirled his twin daggers with his usual flourish.

"Do not complain. Fight." Sten ordered, as the Revenant slashed towards them with a clawed hand.

Zevran dodged the strike with practiced agility.

"I will do both, if it is all the same to you." He laughed, and struck a blow against the demon's form. It roared in anger and slashed at him once more, this time striking. The marks of its claws had torn through Zevran's shirt and drawn blood.

The assassin winced in pain, and then struck his dagger into the base of his enemy's spine.

Asala sliced neatly through the air, and almost took the Revenant's head with it. But the blow was imprecise, impeded by his ungainly, one-handed hold. With the other he held Mahariel's unconscious form steady.

"Put her down, you stubborn ox!"

"I do not wish the demon to possess her while she is unguarded." Sten explained, and struck another blow at their enemy. It weaved out of the way and reached to pull Sten close, but he smashed its face with the pommel of his sword.

"We'll never kill it if you fight like _that_!"

"You are an assassin. It is your city. You kill it." Sten dodged another of its blows, and kicked the creature away from him. It let loose a frustrated hiss in return.

"Oh, very well." Zevran sighed with exasperation. He leapt onto the demon's back, grabbed its head and with all his strength twisted until the face of the creature was almost all the way around. There was a sickening _crack_. With one of his daggers, he stabbed into the creature's eye as deeply as he could, and then sharply turned the blade. The Revenant shrieked with pain unlike any other and doubled forward. Zevran leapt back, and rolled on the ground as he landed.

Sten stepped forward and sliced.

His blade cleaved the enemy in two, messily efficient, so that the torso slipped forward off of the legs and landed on the ground with a wet thud.

The shrieking stopped.

Zevran watched as all around him the illusion fell away. The shop was dark, dingy and grey. There were no treasures, no riches. Only heaps of refuse, apple cores, soiled cloths, and endless spider webs.

"I am suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to wash my hands."

They worked it out like this: Sten was going to stay for an extra two days and leave on the same afternoon as Mahariel. That way he could head home with the certainty that she wouldn't be attacked by any more Antivan abominations. The morning after the fight with the Revenant, Zevran had gone to the Merchant's Guild to ask about Maravillas and who owned it. As it turned out, it had been purchased by the man whose body had been taken over by the Desire Demon that corrupted him into a monster. Since Zevran had slain the monster in question, he was granted ownership of the building. His plan was to sell it and spend the money on things that actually interested him.

So, on the morning of her departure for Amaranthine, Mahariel found herself sweeping enormous cobwebs out of the corners of the dilapidated magic shop.

"Is this how _you_ pictured what our time in Antiva would be like?" She sighed, looking over her shoulder at Sten as he dismantled the old counter by the door.

"No," He shook his head, "I expected many more fights with demons and better meals."

Mahariel laughed and jumped down off of the ladder.

"Are you complaining about the food again, my friend?" Zevran asked cheerfully as he dragged the corpse of a giant spider out of the back room, "I am beginning to think that you only pretended to dislike it in order to exasperate me. But this cannot be so, as it relies upon you having some category of humour beneath your warrior's façade. Which is, quite naturally, preposterous."

He stood and wiped his hands on the front of a brown cotton apron he was wearing. With a deep and exasperated fondness, he looked at his two friends.

"You know something?" He asked, "I am going to… be so _incredibly_ _bored_ without all of the trouble individuals such as yourselves bring into a man's life. What will I do for entertainment? I am certain to wind up with some extremely complicated perversion just to keep life interesting."

"Impossible," Sten grumbled, "You already have every perversion available."

"So what kind of wages are we getting for cleaning your shop? I think thirty bronze coins an hour is fair." Mahariel smiled, leaning against a newly dusted wall.

"Wages?" Zevran balked, "I single-handedly save you from the abyss itself and you want me to pay you for this small, insignificant favour that you _offered _to do for me?"

"Twenty-five bronze coins," Sten folded his arms, and glanced at Mahariel, "He was very efficient in battle."

"That seems reasonable." She nodded.

"Well, I must confess that I do not have the money," Zevran shrugged, "But I will when I have sold this place. So, the two of you are going to have to come find me here when you want to collect."

Sten looked at the elves.

He pondered.

He decided.

"Pay me now."


End file.
